Just So You Know

First off, I’d like to firmly claim that, despite what some people have been saying, I’m not crazy.

I’m more like the opposite of crazy. I’m sane. Sane as a songbird.
So sane.
I’m walking around all day and people are staring at me like I have some kind of arm growing out of my head, or worse a leg out of my arm, or worse yet a head growing out of my own original head. That is the worst possible option because a limb can be controlled, but an extra head will try to seize power.
But there are no weird growths on my body. I know because I wear a full body wetsuit under my clothes (just to be safe) and that layer would stop nearly anything. Even bullets. And curses.
I’d like to once more state that I am not crazy, in any way. Just ask my wife and best friend Stacy.
But Michael, you aren’t married, you might be thinking. WRONG. Just because no one has ever seen or spoken to my wife, doesn’t make her any less real. And just because there is no legal proof or government documentation of her existence. doesn’t make our love any less real. And just because our marriage certificate is made from crayon and uncooked macaroni doesn’t mean it isn’t official.
If you talked to my wife she’d tell you: I’m not crazy.
Not even a little.
Answer me this, naysayers, would a crazy man tattoo “I’m not crazy” in concentric circles from his nipples outward, creating a veritable web of non-craziness. The answer is no. I did that thing about the nipples and that proves it. Once something is written on your body it’s super true. Technically I’m King of America because I wrote that on my hand in pen, just pen. But I didn’t want to upset the system by proclaiming my kingship, but I will if things get too bad.
Furthermore, I own over two hundred collectible glass figurines of kids doing cute activities in the snow.
It just makes me so angry. All this hatred boiling inside of me like a thousand dragon sneezes. And, of course, the anger makes me a little testy, so I run around the supermarket throwing string beans around and yelling “HOP ON THE CHEDDAR TRAIN!! LAST STOP: THE MOON!!!!!!” Then the cashier gets upset when I try to pay with Korgles, a currency I developed based on my fingernail clippings. (Just as a point of reference, an American dollar is roughly equal to 3 Korgles and tennis ball I found under the couch.)
I know exactly what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Man, he’s so crazy.” That’s ‘cause I can read minds. So don’t try and hide from anything from me.
Well I could sit here all day, telling you how not crazy I am, but I have responsibilities, just like anyone else. From 3-4 I give all the canned goods in my house a bath, and sing each one a song before tucking it into bed. So maybe if caring for the things you love makes you crazy, then I’m crazy. Maybe if expressing emotions through dance and pyrotechnics makes you crazy, then I’m crazy. Maybe if making candles in my basement shaped like your face makes me crazy, then I’m crazy.
But if not, I’d like to assert once more that I’m not crazy.